


old moon into stars

by lorenzobane



Category: Shadowhunters
Genre: But whatever, Hurt Magnus Bane, I also made up some warlock customs, I love their friendship so much, I'm literally still sad about Ragnor's death, M/M, Warlock Bromance, a bit angsty, anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorenzobane/pseuds/lorenzobane
Summary: In which Magnus has been putting something off for a while.





	

**January 2005**

Magnus was leaning over a potion with a pipet, carefully dripping dilithium sulfate into it. He was on the edge of a breakthrough with his potion which is designed to flip gravity in a small area temporarily. Magnus had always longed to walk on the moon; now he could bring the moon to him.

Just one more….

“What are you doing now? Some nonsensical experiment, no doubt.”

Magnus gasped and jumped slightly in the air before turning around to glare at the intruder. He would recognize that voice anywhere. “What are you doing here, Ragnor? And couldn’t you have had the decency to call first? I’m working.” Magnus asked shaking his Razr flip phone at his friend.

“What on earth is that?”

“My new cell phone, it’s all the rage. Look how thin it is! The future is now, my friend.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes and gestured for Magnus to sit on the couch like this wasn’t his home. Magnus sighed and cast a quick stasis spell on his potion to come back to later.

“What is it?”

Ragnor looked uncharacteristically nervous, twisting his fingers in his hands, so small sparks of green magic bounced off of them. Magnus immediately straightened up, the irritated, teasing smile on his face dropped quickly, and he moved closer to his friend pressing a hand on the other Warlock’s knee. The other hand snapped lazily, and a full tea set appeared laden with finger sandwiches.

“Is something wrong, my dear little cabbage?”

Ragnor sighed and bit his lip, before taking a deep breath, “I’m retiring at the end of this year.”

Magnus stared at him for a moment before laughing, “retiring? What are you, Ragnor? A mundane?”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Ragnor said reaching for a cucumber sandwich.

“But… But… Why? What will you do with your free time? It’s not as if you can live out your twilight years- you’re immortal.” Something passed over Ragnor’s face, dark and haunted, it frightened Magnus immediately. “Unless… Something is wrong…?”

Ragnor waved away Magnus’s concern with one hand, “I’ve been having strange dreams. Lately, it’s encouraged me to take some time for myself.”

Magnus’s grip tightened on Ragnor’s leg, “dreams?”

Warlocks occasionally have something of a sixth sense, capable of sensing destruction and danger in their futures. Magnus felt a cold hand grip his heart in terror. That couldn’t be possible; this was Ragnor Fell. One of the most well respected, influential Warlocks in the world. They are in peacetime; there is no threat. Valentine is dead; The Clave is functioning almost normally. He should be fine; he _has_ to be fine.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“What if it’s not?” Magnus shot back, his heart still pounding, “we should look into this.”

“No,” Ragnor said firmly. “If it does turn out to be something, I’m not going to spend my remaining days fighting fate and living in fear. I shall live the way I have, and if death should find me, then that is that.”

“No,” Magnus said, his stomach turning. “You can’t be serious.”

Ragnor sighed, “I’ve already begun the ceremony. It’ll be over in two days, and then I will no longer be the High Warlock of London.”

Magnus nodded numbly, before reaching to take a sip of tea. “So why did you come here?”

“I want you to accept my Cur’su’raat,”

Magnus gasped. He probably looked quite stupid; the sandwich half chewed in his mouth. He couldn’t even bring himself to worry about how uncouth he was being.

A cur’su’raat is a sacred Warlock tradition. When a High Warlock steps down, they crystallize their knowledge, wisdom, and memories- which forms a jewel-like structure. They then choose a Warlock they respect and admire to pass their knowledge to. Though the cur’su’raat will not open unless the Warlock has died, it is a tremendously powerful symbol of trust and affection. To carry someone’s cur’su’raat is akin to carrying their legacy with you.

“I—I— I would be honored, of course, this is… I…”

“Surely,” Ragnor said scoffing, though his eyes were glistening as well, “you know there is no one I would rather pass it to.”

Magnus, who had never been one to stand on such absurd customs of the British stiff upper lip, grabbed his friend and pulled him into a tight hug. He buried his face in his friend’s shoulder, enjoying the smell of tea and old books that emanated off of him, and whispered fiercely, “Don’t you dare think that this means I’m going to leave you all alone to your silly little country house.”

Ragnor clutched back hard, “I wouldn’t dream of it, my friend.”

Two days later Magnus was in possession of a bright green stone roughly the size of his fist that gleamed and pounded as if it had a heart inside. Magnus placed it carefully in his drawer, enjoying the warm feeling- it was as if Ragnor was standing right next to him. He smiled to himself as he closed the drawer, comfortable in the knowledge that he would not be able to access its depths.

* * *

**April 2017**

“Magnus, come on!”

Magnus rolled his eyes from where he was standing in front of his dresser. Alec is always such a stickler for punctuality, even though they have half an hour to get to the restaurant and Magnus fully intends to call an Uber. His lips twitch up in fondness as he looks at himself in the mirror, it is somewhat foolish how soft that makes him.

“One moment, Alexander,” Magnus responds eventually opening his drawer to pick a bracelet for his outfit.

He shifts a box around, looking for his favorite gold—

_Oh._

Sitting there, silent and still, is Ragnor’s Cur’su’raat. Magnus reaches out and grabs the box carefully, taking pains not to touch the crystal to his skin. He remembers how it felt, pulsing and alive under his fingers when he last looked at it. Seeing it now, a solid green, crystal rock is a sucker punch he wasn’t prepared for.

“Magnus! Hurry up!”

Magnus looks up from the drawer and looks at himself in the mirror before taking a few deep breaths. He pushes himself out of his room in an attempt to look as healthy as he can, not quite prepared to explain the unexpected agony he feels. Even more unwilling to tell him that all he wants to do right now is to drink an entire bottle of whiskey alone.

“Actually, Alec,” Magnus said placing a hand on his stomach to feign injury, “I’m feeling a bit sick. Why don’t you take Isabelle instead and keep our reservation?”

“Magnus? Wh—?”

He snapped his fingers, and his platinum credit card appeared in his hands, “here, take my card.”

“I don’t need your…?”

Magnus just leaves it on the table and walks back to his room, closing it behind him. In his haste to get rid of Alec, he left the Cur’su’raat sitting on his dresser. He has been careful not to touch the crystal with his skin. Any skin contact would active it, would prove, once and for all that Ragnor really isn’t coming back. He’s dead. He’ll still be dead in one hundred years. He’ll never _stop being dead._

He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his stomach to force himself to take deep, inhaling breaths.

He hears a knock on his bedroom door, hesitant and confused. _Oh yes_ , he thinks to himself wryly, _Alexander thinks of himself as a caretaker_.

“Magnus,” he hears Alec’s voice through the door, “is everything alright?”

He moves the crystal back inside the dresser, presses down his shirt, and calls back, “do come in, darling. It’s not as if the door is locked, though, you will miss our reservation if you keep lingering. Have you texted Izzy?”

“No,” he replies firmly.

Magnus stands and briskly says, “well you should. It will take her longer to get there from the Institute.”

“Magnus, stop,” Alec said softly grabbing his wrist. “What is going on?”

Magnus clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know how to share this with Alec. This isn’t an ancient pain, like Camille or his mother. This is raw; it’s right here in his heart- he still texts Ragnor funny things and gets confused when he receives no response. He still uses the present tense. There are no words to describe everything Ragnor was to him. Binge drinking, and then crying hysterically into one of Ragnor’s old sweaters may not be ideal coping, but it’s all he wants to do right now.

“I told you, darling, I’m just feeling a bit sick- I think it’s best if I stay in.”

“You hate staying in,” Alec responded, his eyes still soft and fierce as they looked at Magnus. “You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. Something is wrong.”

“Drop it, Alec,” Magnus replies sharply. “I’m not in the mood, I apologize for cutting the evening short, but I am not feeling up to the company.”

“What happened?” Alec asks desperately. “You were fine ten minutes ago, what the hell happened?”

Magnus ignores him and begins removing jewelry and his makeup. He senses Alec still standing behind him, motionless and bewildered, but he genuinely cannot bring it in himself to care right now.

The ache is more pronounced. He can feel it in his fingertips, the fizzle of magic reminding him painfully of hazy mornings in English countrysides and long talks under desert stars. The feeling under his skin the first time Ragnor said he was proud of him- a memory that is somehow brighter than any magic Magnus has ever produced.

Magnus had lived a life without softness, born a monster, wandering alone with anxious intensity. Fucking who he could, leaving before they asked for more.

Ragnor taught him tenderness.

Ragnor, who created a pulsing bright gem- filled with the spark of his knowledge, the bite of his wit. Who saw a lonely young man, and despite all his complaints, took him in, and taught him more than magic.

Ragnor, who leaves nothing behind but a quiet emerald.

Magnus has lost before. He’s lost, and lost, and lost. That was the curse of immortality, desperately holding on to sand slipping through his fingers.

But Ragnor—

It didn’t do much good to dwell on life’s unfairness. He had learned that early on as he lay in bed watched over by icy Silent Brothers.

He hadn’t even realized there was already a glass of whiskey in his hand, but he appreciated it none the less. He took a sip, relishing in the burn as it slid down his throat. It was bracing, helped keep him from wandering off into the past.

Ragnor always complained about the adventures Magnus had gone on, and now the bastard had left him on the one adventure he dares not follow.

“… Do you need anything?”

He jumped, not realizing Alec was still there. He looked concerned, his bright hazel eyes fixed on him. For some reason, it made him want to laugh. So he did.

“You told me not to push you away when things got hard,” Alec said walking towards him. “So please, please, don’t push me away.”

Magnus stared at him. He truly did not have the words for the feelings trapped in his head- so instead he silently poured another glass of whiskey and offered it to Alec. The other man hesitated for a moment before taking the glass- Magnus raised his own in a mock salute before drinking the entire thing in one sip.

A part of him regretted it; this was a Mccallan Rare Cask- hardly the type of whiskey you down quickly- but that part was quickly silenced by the need for more alcohol. He cast a spell to have his glass instantly refill and walked to the balcony breathing deeply as he took another sip. Alec stood next to him stoically, not saying anything. Magnus appreciated it more than words could say.

As the glass refilled, he glanced at the stars. Magnus often wondered what death felt like, whether it would bring him peace of an eternity of damnation. He wondered what would have happened if he had just gone with Ragnor to pick up his book if he would have been able to protect him. Or maybe, he would have died too.

Sometimes he pictured the Earth, a blue, spinning ball screaming helplessly into an uncaring abyss. Everyone he has ever loved, and ever will love hidden in one, small, unimportant part of a universe that could care less about them. 

In the grand scheme of things, Magnus thought, perhaps Ragnor’s lifetime of knowledge- centuries and centuries- are utterly worthless. The stories he has and the adventures he’s lived are blinks in a cosmic minute.

And yet—

And yet, and yet, and yet.

He was well into his eighth drink when Alec shifted next to him. The balcony was cold even though Magnus could hardly feel it with the whiskey in his system and the burning pain in his heart. They must have been out there for hours. He cast warming spell around Alec, careful not to catch himself in the spell’s thrall. He rather liked the cold against his skin.

Alec looked at him with surprise, as if he wasn’t quite sure Magnus was still aware he was there. Oddly he did find the company soothing, Alec’s undemanding silence centered him. Ragnor always did tease him for having a saturnine temperament- some days that was truer than others.

He thought again of the Cur’su’raat sitting in his drawer. Just the sight of it made him spiral so completely- but he couldn’t keep denying it to himself. The longer he avoided it, the more he refused to touch it, the harder Ragnor’s death was to accept. Denial wouldn’t do any longer.

He conjured it from his room, the box it was housed in hovered in front of him. It shone softly in the dim evening light. Magnus wondered what time it was- he sometimes loses the thread of hours and minutes when he gets like this. It was on days like these that he felt the full weight of eight hundred years pressing into his bones, grinding them to paste. Five hours was hardly a millisecond to him.

It warmed him slightly to know Alec had stood there, a silent sentry to Magnus’ aching heart.

“It is Ragnor’s,” Magnus said, his voice horse from the silence.

“What is it?”

“His legacy. It’s up to me to protect it now,” Magnus said, his voice still absent and blank, as he raised his shaking hand to grab the crystal.

It began to hum the second his skin touched the smooth surface before tiny pinpricks of blue light began lighting up from the inside. At that moment, for just a moment, Magnus could _feel_ Ragnor warm and bright next to him. He could feel his magic as the air filled with the smell of tea and old books. Within seconds the feeling dissipated leaving the crisp fall air. 

_He’s actually gone._

The crystal settled down. Magnus knew that he would be able to call upon it for answers and guidance in the future, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His hand which was still holding the whiskey glass went slack, and the tumbler went crashing to the ground exploding at his feet. He almost collapsed himself, but he felt a pair of strong arms grab him before his knees made contact with the granite floor.

He looked up to thank Alec but was met by surprised hazel eyes. Wrapped around him was bright green magic, swirling and protecting him.

A whisper in the dark rang out; I’ll _always be here for you, old friend._

For the first time, that night tears began to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Title kidnapped from Alexander Solzhenitsyn's "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich"
> 
> (I knew that Russian lit class would pay off eventually)


End file.
